Reddie Oneshots

-56- Boys Will be Boys (2/2)

The monitor flatlined.

Richie was dead.

Eddie stared at the monitor until he couldn't see it anymore through his tears, urging it to start again. He looked down at the bodies of the doctors, who had pumped his stomach and were trying so dearly to restart his heart. Eddie knew it wouldn't happen. His insides were churning again, and he felt the contents of his stomach rising up once again. He opened the bag and threw up twice.

A steady stream of tears drenched his face as he looked up and got a glance of Richie's pale face and closed eyes. He threw up again as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. The lead doctor turned to him solemnly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Eddie nodded, "I know."

"He's dead," the Doctor whispered.

Eddie nodded again. "I know."

His world had gone numb. A nurse took the bag from him and let him walk away, with the promise that he could get help if he asked.

He knew he wouldn't. He walked home slowly, a trail of tears lined the sidewalk where he walked, then quickly evaporated from the bright sun.

His brain was on autopilot, and it led him straight to Richie's empty house. He stood outside for nearly five minutes, sobbing violently, then he walked feebly inside. The door was still open, and the second he stepped foot in the house, he collapsed. His head hurt badly, but he couldn't stop sobbing. He lay his temple onto the hardwood floor of the front hall, shutting his eyes and smelling Richie's scent, his eyes still pouring tears.

After what felt like forever, his tears were dried up and all he could do was sob. Weakly, he dragged himself to the kitchen and stood up, supporting himself on the counter. Then he collapsed again, choking on his sobs and crawling to the stairs. He climbed up slowly, and when he finally arrived at the top of the stairs, he turned right. Into Richie's room. His chest hurt as if it had been ripped right out of him, and he wished he could stab himself right then and there. His head throbbed as he gazed around the room, seeing everything just as messy as Richie had left it: books and comics out of order and bedsheets messy; shoes in two different corners of the room and a laundry basket with clothes hanging off the sides.

He knew he was going to throw up again, and made it to the bathtub to do so. Once he realized where he was, he felt his stomach try to throw up once again, but nothing came. He'd been pumped dry, just like Richie.

The fucking bathtub. He looked around, and saw the bottle of whiskey; the bottle of pills was nowhere to be seen. He saw the note and read it over and over, not daring to touch it. He was sitting in a puddle of water, the water that Richie had been drenched in, and he lay down again, and put his head on the floor, continuing to sob.

He crawled back to Richie's room, taking a couple of Richie's favourite things and shoving them into his pockets, taking off his tear stained shirt and putting on the blue Freese's shirt he'd found on the bed. His head throbbed so badly, and he just wanted everything to end. But first.

He choked on air, hiccuping as he stood up. In the kitchen he found a large butcher's knife and he headed out the door, clutching it in his palms. It wasn't a long walk to the Bowers farm, so he didn't see anyone really. Thank god. They probably would have had him incarcerated. He was a mess, with his shirt front drenched in tears and the side of his head soaking from bath water. The entire right side of his pants were wet as well, and he had a knife in his hands.

Henry, Victor and Belch were outside, sitting on Butch's car, and Eddie walked in from behind. He grabbed the back of Henry's shirt and put the knife to his neck. Henry, out of instinct, ducked away and stood up.

Eddie pointed the knife at him, tears dripping from his face to the dirt ground. "You motherfucker." Eddie growled, jaw shaking. He wished there was a word in the English language to describe how much of a piece of shit Henry was. "All of you!" he screamed.

"Whoa, did he go crazy or somethin'?" Belch whispered to Henry, who shrugged, a look of fear on his face.

"Better fucking question, you-you braindead, psycho, mental-ward cunts," Eddie yelled. "Are you crazy? Are you out of your fucking minds? Do you have any?"

Victor's eyes darted toward the road.

"Don't you dare run from me, you worthless bitch, I will not hesitate to hurt you," Eddie growled. Henry visibly started shaking.

"People die because of you, you brainwashed murderers," Eddie yelled. "I'd tell you to find yourself a fucking life if I didn't know you might not have one in a minute or two, Henry."

Henry's eyes widened. "I– we never ki-killed—"

"Oh fucking yeah? Is that what you think, you cunt? You motherfucking idiots!" Eddie screamed.

"What?" Henry breathed.

"Richie is dead. And it's because of you, you criminal piece of shit, you and your brainwashed goons!" Eddie ran up to Henry and grabbed his arm with a newfound strength he didn't know he possessed, and he cut a deep slash running from Henry's collarbones to his nipple. Henry let out a loud cry and ran to get a phone.

Belch and Victor ran away.

"Some friends," Eddie muttered, turning to walk away and leaving the knife on the ground. He ran to his house, anger and adrenaline paired with fear and dread washed through him. He ran up the steps to his house and ran inside, collapsing on the floor. All the sadness from before washed back through him in another intense wave, and his tears started again.

Three years later, Eddie stood in front of Richie's gravestone.

"So," he began quietly. "seventeen. It's a big year." He took a deep breath and continued. "I miss you more than ever, Rich. Everyone's got someone. Like I say every time, I always loved you, and I'm sorry you had to go that way. We could have had such a good life together. But I think it's time for me to move on. I can't keep living like this. I promise I'll visit you still, it just won't be as regularly. Beverly's gone, she moved this summer to Portland. Big Bill says he wants to move to England, start a writing career. That's all that's new for now. I'll... I'll talk to you sometime soon. Rest in peace, love."

He put down the faded Freese's shirt beside the wilted flowers from a few days ago, and walked away, a small smile gracing his features.

"I'll never forget you."

———
I'm honestly crying so hard
who gave me permission to write this

Also I went back & read the first one & bitch someone tell me how the fuck I was a way higher caliber writer back in MARCH
Pls tell me if there are typos, I'm asking you to